Attempt
by AmoebaJones
Summary: Peter tries to run away from his problems, and ends up helping someone else with their problems. It's rated PG just in case. It's my first fic, but I take criticism very well. Just give it a chance, please? Please review.
1. Default Chapter

I really like Peter. I think he's very cool. This story doesn't give a lot of detail about the surrounding of whoever is narrating because I'm basically telling you what's going on in their minds. This is the first story I've written in a while, and my first fan fiction ever, so please review and you can tell me if it's really bad, so, enjoy!  
  
[Disclaimer] I own none of the original 7th Heaven characters.  
  
"Peter, is that you?" I called out from the kitchen once I heard a door shut quietly as if someone was sneaking in. "Peter?" I called again after no answer. I wiped my wet, soapy hands on a towel and headed for the stairs.  
  
I hope it's Peter. I told him to be home half an hour ago. Because Peter is picky when it comes to clothes, I gave him money so he can buy his own clothes. I also brought his friend Ruthie Camden to the mall. Ruthie's a good kid. I hope she'll have a positive influence on him and help him pick out some nice clothes.  
  
"Peter, are you home?" I yelled a little bit louder. No one answered me. I ran up the stairs, kind of frightened. I ran so fast that I tripped and got a rug burn. I didn't let that stop me. I was determined. I kept on running until I got to the top.  
  
First, I ran to Peter's room. The door was closed, like always, so I knocked. Actually, I banged. After a few seconds, my knuckles were swollen and red, so I stopped and listened. I heard the faint rustling of a plastic bag, so I tip-toed around the hall, trying to guess where it was coming from.  
  
The bathroom! Of course! I softly knocked on the door, my heart beating very quickly. If Peter really is in here, why didn't he answer me when I called?  
  
"Peter, it better be you in there!" I said. The response to this was a mutter, but it definitely came from Peter. "Can I come in? I want to see what you bought!"  
  
"Uhh...hold on for a second, will ya?" Peter responded. I then heard a louder version of the rustling of a plastic bag. Then Peter opened the door. The first thing I noticed was that his cheeks were bright red.  
  
"Are you feeling alright? Your cheeks are so red!" I said.  
  
"MOM! I didn't do anything! Cheesus! Why do you accuse me of every little thing?" Peter shouted at me. Before I knew it, he was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor.  
  
"Peter, honey, I didn't accuse you of anything. I just asked if you were feeling alright because you're cheeks are awfully red," I said, desperately trying to understand what had just happened. "There, there, Pete, it's ok now. I think we just had a little misunderstanding. Now, show me what you have."  
Peter beckoned me inside, and then motioned for me to sit down upon the seat of the toilet. He reached into the tub, and pulled out about 7 large bags. I gasped.  
  
"Peter, how.." I began, but Peter put his hand on my mouth, and I got the hint and kept quiet.  
  
"Well, I looked for bargains. You gave me enough cash to buy a few shirts and a couple pairs of jeans at those expensive stores, but I figured I could buy triple the amount of clothes at some other stores. Actually, it was Ruthie's idea," he said, quite proudly. He began to lay out all the clothes and I was so astounded that I just grabbed Peter and hugged him until he began to choke.  
  
"I didn't know it would be that big of a deal, but I'm glad you're proud of me, Mom. I love you!" He sounded really happy.  
  
"Aww...I love you too Peter. Now, I have some great news! The judge thinks that your father is now responsible enough to have you be able to stay with him for a while. We have it all arranged. In a week, you'll be moving to San Francisco! Isn't this exciting?" I said, hoping he would be excited. If he wasn't, we would have a dilemma on our hands.  
  
"NO! I love him and all, but I'm not going to live with him! You can't make me! I won't go! I won't! Did you make this decision with consulting me? Did you make it without even thinking about how I was going to feel? I'm not going!!!"  
  
"Peter, we did think about you! We thought about how excited you'd be! Why aren't you happy about this? He's your father! Peter, I'm sorry to say, you have to go. We already made arrangements for you to go to a very nice school, expensive, but you'll get a lot out of it, and, oh Peter, why not? It will be fun!" I coaxed. Uh oh, now what are we going to do?  
  
"Mom! I can't go! You can't make me! My life is here, not in San Francisco! I don't want to live with him! Why didn't you two think about what you were going to do if I wasn't happy?"  
  
"We..I..I don't know, Buddy," I began quietly. "I'm sorry, but you have to go. I told you father you would be going, and if you told him you weren't, well, let's just say it wouldn't be pretty. I'm sorry, Peter, but you can visit on vacations and 3-day weekends.  
  
"It wouldn't be pretty? Why would you want me living with a man like that?!? Wait, don't answer that. I know why. You want me out of the house so I can't ruin things between you and Chandler. Well, you can never make me leave. Even if I'm found." His face was even redder then before. I had never ever in my life seen him so angry. What had I done? And what did he mean by 'Even if I'm found'?  
  
~*~  
  
I don't know where I'm going. I'm just running. Running away from home, kind of. I didn't bring anything with me, except a rubber band ball I have in my pocket. Ruthie and I made it. We followed three paper boys through the neighborhood and picked up every single rubber band they dropped. Sure, we got lost and walked around until Sgt. Michaels found us, but hey, it was fun. And now I have a rubber band ball. Maybe I can throw it at a cat.  
  
I'm very uncomfortable. My shoes are soaked clear through. My wet socks are clinging to my now wet feet. Good thing I'm wearing a waterproof jacket. My drenched jeans are now stuck to my legs. I hate running in wet jeans. Did I hate them more than I hated my mother at the time? Maybe.  
  
Why did I hate my mother? I'd been so busy thinking about how uncomfortable I was that I completely forgot why I was running in the first place. Oh, yeah, now I remember.  
  
Oh, look! A park! A gazebo! Is that what they're called? Oh well. I need to be in there. Here I am, running, running, running. Now I'm inside. It's still cold, but it's dry. Dryness! I love dryness. Dryness...dryness...dryness...  
  
"Kid, you alright?"  
  
Hope you liked. More coming soon. Review, please? 


	2. Chapter Two

As you can probably see, I'm not a member of the Vic fan club. :D Here's Chapter 2! Please read and review!  
  
[Disclaimer] I own only James and Lila (You'll see who they are). I do not own any of the other characters in this story. I do not own 7 Eleven.  
  
Oh my goodness. Is the kid dead? It sure is cold out here. Is shaking him the right thing to do? Well, kid, wake up!  
  
"Yeah, I'm OK... Who are you?" the kid responded. I stared at him. He stared back. I didn't blink. He didn't blink. I think I can see tears welling up in his eyes. I don't think he can take it anymore. Than he blinked. "Aww..man! I was going to win that one!" he said, laughing. I chuckled, but it was fake. Who does this kid think he is? Who is this kid, anyway?  
  
"Here, let's sit down. So, kid, what're you doin' out here in the cold and rain?" I asked. I kind of felt bad for the kid. I don't know why; I don't know anything about him.  
  
"Well, I ran away from home a while ago, and this was where I finally stopped. Do you know what time it is? I want to know how long it's been since I left home. Home. Where is my home? Where am I?" He said, almost all at once. I couldn't understand him.  
  
"Woah! Slow down! Old men can't go as fast as you children do. So, wait, you ran away from home..." I began, but decided not to say anything else.  
  
"Alright, I ran away from home because I'm very angry with my mother. You see, she told my father I would go live with him in San Francisco, but I don't want to! Besides, without even thinking she said I would be happy to leave my home and friends and my mom to go live with my Dad. But I won't! No one can make me! Where are we? What time is it?"  
  
"Well, we're in a town called Vickery-" I began, but was interrupted by the kid.  
  
"You're kidding, right?" he said in disbelief. Now I'm confused.  
  
"No, I'm not kidding... Anyway, it has to be some time after 4 AM. I hate to change the subject, but what's your name, kid?" This kid can't have been out here for that long. He'd be sick by now.  
  
"It's Peter. Wow, 4 AM... I don't know what to say. My mom is probably worried sick!" Peter said. Before I knew it, he began to cry.  
  
"Hold it, Peter, don't cry. Now, I'm not too good with this kid stuff, so bear with me. Now, what time did you leave your house?" I said, not knowing what else to say.  
  
"I left my house at approximately 5 o' clock yesterday. Then I ran for, umm, I don't know how long. Then I found this park and this gazebo, and I guess I fell asleep," he replied. He had stopped crying by now.  
  
"Wow, that was a long time ago," I said. What should I say? What should I say? "Well, where do you live? I can tell you how far you've run."  
  
"I live in Glen Oak. Is that far?" He sounded really worried. His eyes had a sad look to them. Was it because his mother was probably worried about him?  
  
Glen Oak? He can't live in Glen Oak! That's too far away for a boy like him to run from. He must be lying. "Is that far?" I asked, making sure that's the question he asked. He nodded. "Well, kind of. Now, Peter, it's too cold for you and me, especially you, to be out here. Would you like to accompany me to where I call home?"  
  
Peter sat there and stared into space. "Well, I've already been talking to a stranger for this long," he began, sounding very nervous, "So I guess it doesn't really matter if I go home with him. Lead the way." So we both got up and I lead the way, out of the gazebo and through the wet grass.  
  


* * *

  
So much has happened in the past day. First my Mom tells me I have to go live with my Dad in San Francisco, then I run away from home, and now I'm walking through an unfamiliar town on my way to a stranger's house. Didn't they teach you not to talk to strangers in Kindergarten? It didn't matter anymore. I don't care if I'm kidnapped. Nothing mattered anymore.  
  
I wonder how my Mom is. Wait, why do I care? A little voice inside my head is telling me that I care because I love my mother, but how can I after what she just did to me? The little voice also told me to find a phone and call home and have my Mom get me  
  
"You're awfully quiet, kid. You thinkin'?" the man asked, staring at the ground. He hadn't looked at me once since we left the park.  
  
"Yeah, I am. Do you know how to shut up the little voice inside your head? Is what it says always true?" I asked. "Because I don't like what this voice has to say."  
  
"Yeah, it's pretty much always true. Sure, you should do what it says, but it can be hard. What's it sayin'?" he replied. He actually cared, I think.  
  
"It's saying I should find a pay phone and call my Mom to let her know that I'm OK and have her come get me. It's also saying that living with my Dad won't be so bad, and that I'll make new friends."  
  
"Do you want to know what I think?" he asked. Did I want to know? I think I already know what he's going to say. He's going to say 'Why are you putting your mother through this? She thought you'd be happy! You should go home. Everything will be alright in San Francisco. You'll make new friends.'  
  
"I guess so. You're more experienced in life than I am," I said without enthusiasm.  
  
"Alright then," he began. "I think you should listen to the little voice. Your poor mother! Why are you putting her through this? She thought you'd be happy! You should go home. Everything will be alright in San Francisco. You'll make new friends."  
  
"Oh, come on! You don't really think that, right? You're just repeating what I just told you! Now, are we almost there? I need a change of clothes," I said. I was not happy at this point.  
  
"Hey, be happy, will ya? We're here! This is the place I like to call home," he said, his arms opened wide.  
  
"This isn't a house! This isn't even an apartment! This is a-a homeless shelter! You live here?" I yelled. I thought he meant a home, like a house, you know.  
  
"Hey, Peter, this is what I have! This is all I have, and I'm sharing it with you!" he shouted at me. Now I'm noticing that this guy is pretty big. "Now, take it or leave it, kid. If you choose to leave it, I think there's a phone in that there 7 Eleven. Now, what do you want to do?"  
  
What should I do? This wasn't what I expected. If I go in, I'll be able to eat and have clean and dry clothes, and be warm and for the most part, safe. If I don't, I can either go call my Mom, and let her know that I'm alright, or I can live on the streets eating ABC gum.  
  
"Lead the way," I said, and I followed him into a large gray building. 


End file.
